Strangers
by inkpaperlove
Summary: He saw her from across the bar. She said little, and walked out the door as if it were the easiest thing in the world. But the encounter evoked memories of discovering each others bodies during the long night hours. Once these feelings have been reawakened, will either of them have the strength to silence them? Will either of them want to? Rated M for language and future lemons
1. Prologue

**Hello my lovely Snamione lovers! For some of you "The Slave's Girl" may have brought you here. Don't panic, I'm still working on the fic and I have every intention of continuing to work on it. However, I find that working on multiple pieces allows the creative juices to run. This fic was inspired by a dream sequence in TSG (so if you draw a parallel- this is it). This fic is rated M because I like to overuse the word fuck. Woot.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own nor will I ever own the genius that is JKR's work. I do own a coconut bra though.**

_"I fell in love with her when we were together, then fell deeper in love with her in the years we were apart."_

_-Nicholas Sparks_

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**Prologue**

"Happy birthday to me," The tumbler in front of me had been empty for several minutes, mocking me and my clearly-not-drunk-enough state.

48.

The pub was rowdier than usual, loud mouthed fratboys driven in from the thick January snow. The muggle bar was approximately three blocks away from my apartment, a nice enough distance to stretch my aching joints without fear of collapse.

"Ye's gots another one," The bartender opened his palm, dropping a crumpled napkin onto the bar in front of me, a smeared phone number written across it. The digits were nearly unrecognizable, but I could make out a lopsided heart scribbled next to it. I grimaced at the bartender, sliding the piece of trash into my coat pocket.

I wouldn't call it.

Or maybe I would.

Fuck.

"That's the third one tonight," A young muggle woman slid into the seat next to mine. Her hair was dyed a dark brown, with purple streaks around her face. She had an innocent enough looking face, but masked behind several layers of muddied makeup. She had a shapely body, dressed in a tight dress that matched the color of the evening sky.

As she leaned in closer, I could smell a rose perfume clinging to her skin, "Number, I mean. I've been counting."

"Jealous?" My lips curved into a smirk and I gestured at the bartender for a round of drinks.

She laughed, showing two rows of perfectly straight teeth, "I'm Charlotte Garside."

"Prince," I took a shot, reveling in the burn of alcohol against the back of my neck, "Simon Prince."

In that moment, I imagined her in every lude position possible. I could see her on my kitchen table, and on the leather sofa that I had imported from Italy. I imagined her glistening from the spray of my shower, or on her knees by the fireplace.

But of course not in my bed.

Never in my bed.

Vanilla, the seductive scent of it enthralled me for the briefest of moments, and then it was gone.

The girl blinked expectantly at me as if she expected a response from me. Suddenly, the purple in her hair seemed tacky and teenageresque. The heavy eyeliner that she had caked on no longer screamed, "Fuck me!". Rather, it looked as if she had been punched in the face multiple times. The dress seemed cheap to me something that a hooker would wear while making her rounds.

Fuck.

"I'm telling you, Ron, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is in need of a new Head and I was really thinking that I should give it a shot."

That voice.

I saw her in the corner of my eye, making her way up to the bar with a small grin on her face. The scent of vanilla came off of her in waves, intoxicating my senses. I noted that her hair was shorter, and she had finally managed to tame the mane of curls that always seemed to rule her head. A gangly Ron Weasley appeared at her side, looping his arm around her waist.

"To us," He lifted his drink and they clinked glasses before exchanging a tender kiss.

Smash. The remnant shards of my whiskey glass littered the surface of the bar. The couple broke apart and honey brown eyes met onyx black.

Say something.

She didn't.

Do something.

She didn't.

They were stuck there in a form of limbo, daring each other to make the first move.

"Simooooooon," Cindy or Carly or whatever the fuck her name was had appeared, whining at his arm, "Let's go."

"Forgive me, Professor," Hermione Granger nodded politely, and then she was gone. The couple disappeared back into the snow, with only two empty mugs to serve as proof that they had been there in the first place.

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**Thoughts?**

**So obviously this is only the prologue. (Which explains for the shortness) I'm actually thinking about updating this less frequently than TSG, but with much longer chapters. Please leave love and reviews! xoxoxoxo, inkpaperlove**


	2. Chapter 1

**Thank you all so much for you encouragement on the prologue. As to the guest reviewer who left me a novel for a review- I understand that I am very very very American. If I tried to force myself to sound "British" it would look comical and probably offensive. I have no qualms about sounding American. Now I understand that Harry Potter and the characters are British, however the lovely JKR is a British writer and I'm not her nor will I pretend to be here. Thank you for your critique, but I can't really do anything about it. (And if that came off as bitchy, I promise that it wasn't.)**

**Also- shoutout to my girl bluefirefly5 who is basically the best thing ever.**

***Disclaimer: JKR is a British genius. I'm an 100% American with a notebook***

_"It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles. Then the victory is yours. It cannot be taken from you, not by angels or by demons, heaven or hell."  
-Buddha_

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**Chapter 1-**

"That's 55 dead," I counted and double counted the tallies on the scrap of parchment. To think that every single line stood for a person who had once preferred their tea a certain way, who had a sweet tooth in the middle of the night, or enjoyed sitting by a fire on a winter night. Now, they were reduced to a single ink stroke, one in fifty five.

"54," Harry corrected, his eyes locked on the figure that Madame Pomfrey was attending to across the Great Hall. His eyes were heavily bagged, his shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion.

"Right. 54," I looked at the last tally on the sheet, wondering perhaps if I should scribble it out. Had I already condemned him to death? Was his life determined on the line that I had created for him?

A set of fingers tangled themselves in my own, squeezing my own.

"I'm really sorry about Fred," I rested my cheek against his arm, trying my best not to run my eyes over the lines of sheet covered bodies.

Ron didn't say anything, but I didn't expect him to. We stood with our fingers entwined, clinging onto the tiniest piece of sanity that we still had left. I traced the lines of his hand, unconsciously memorizing each detail.

"Pomfrey looks like she wants you," Ron mumbled, breaking away from my grasp. I looked towards the old mediwitch who was looking expectantly at me, her gnarled hand gesturing for me to come to her.

"Just give me a second," I brushed a chaste kiss against his cheek, then dipped away into the crowd.

The mediwitch was busy rolling up the rest of the bandages, tucking them away into her kit.

"The number please, Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey darted her eyes to look at the bodies.

"54, ma'am," _55_. I found myself staring at the heavily bandaged body.

"I'll need your assistance on this one," Pomfrey caught my stare, "The medicine should keep the poison out of the blood, but it will be a long shot."

"Will he live?" The slip of parchment in my hand reminded me of the extra tally that the sheet held.

"He is a fighter," The woman flicked her wand and the body raised from the table, "I have faith in him."

I watched the mediwitch disappear, the crowd splitting to allow her to pass with the still body of Professor Snape.

"He's okay, right?" Harry's voice sounded like a rasp against my neck.

"Harry, you need some sleep," I smiled weakly at him.

He laughed a barking laugh, "I just defeated Voldemort and you expect me to crawl into bed?"

I sighed, "I suppose not. And I'm sure Snape will be fine."

"Mione?" Ron's arms encircled my waist, his chin resting on the top of my head, "Let's go."

He led me back to the Gryffindor Common Room, surprisingly untouched by the battle. The fire had long since gone out, a few smoldering remains leaving shadows across the room. It occurred to me that this was the first time that I had seen the room so vacant, knowing that nobody was asleep upstairs.

We stopped at the juncture of the two staircases, but he kept me from departing with a hard kiss to the lips.

"Come to bed with me?" He begged, "Please."

His eyes were vacant, hollow and void of emotion.

"Not tonight," I squeezed his hand, "It isn't right."

"Of course," He nodded jerkingly, "Goodnight Mione."

I took the stairs one at a time, not bothering to take out my wand to light my path. When I reached the door I pushed it open, welcomed by three empty beds. The sheets were cool around my skin, reminding me of the house elves that had sacrificed their lives tonight.

I lay there shivering in the cold, faces flashing in my mind.

Lupin. Tonks. Fred. Colin. Professor Snape.

Professor Snape heavily bandaged, being rushed to the hospital wing.

Professor Snape with poison running through his body.

Professor Snape dead.

_55._

I didn't cry. I realized that I couldn't cry. The tears that didn't fall from my eyes were instead drowning me, slowly but surely.

With that thought, I fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Sunlight warmed my skin. For a moment, I could hear the giggling of Parvati and the rowdiness of the quidditch team in the Common Room. Then, reality hit me like a boulder.

The jumper that I had been wearing yesterday clung to my skin. I tugged it over my head, tossing it into the rubbish bin. My beaded bag still lay at the foot of my four poster bed and I rustled around in it for a clean shirt. I found an old blouse and I buttoned it, then twisted my hair into a bun on the top of my head.

"Miss Granger?" The fireplace crackled, "You are needed in the hospital wing."

I tied my trainers, focusing on each knot before I departed the room.

The wing was crowded, volunteer staff from St. Mungo's bustling about and addressing slashes and burns. There were small huddles of people, leaning against each other as they stared blankly at the tile floor.

I found Madame Pomfrey in a small wing to the side of the room, hidden by a heavy purple curtain.

Snape lay motionless in the bed, his skin slick with whatever ointment Pomfrey was rubbing into him. A sheet was drawn up to his waist, but what was visible was naked skin. My eyes traced the lanky muscles of his arms, then dipped down to his muscled chest and abdomen. Scars crossed his body, telling a story that I couldn't quite figure out.

"The potion please, Miss Granger," The mediwitch shook me out of my reverie when she pointed to a small cart that she had pushed up against the wall.

I attempted to hand her the blue vial, but she just shook her hand.

"Tilt his head back and pour it down his throat," The old witch brushed her hands off on her apron. She looked like a crumbed November leaf, threatening to blow away at any minute, "I must go attend to other patients. Professor Snape, it appears, has fallen into a coma. Give him the potion and talk a bit ot him. God only knows if it will bring him back to us."

The witch disappeared behind the curtain, leaving me alone with the potions master.

"Hello Professor," I tipped his chin back, letting the potion run down his throat, "You took quite a nasty bite." The wound on his neck was jagged, blackened around the edges by the poison.

"If you can hear me in there, Professor, you need to fight it off. We're all sitting around holding our breath to see if you're coming back. I know that I'm just a silly know-it-all, but I'm the silly know-it-all that was put in charge of saving your arse. I'm going to do it, Professor. I've never met a more stubborn human being in my entire life. I know that you can make it. In a couple of days you'll be terrifying the St. Mungo's staff. I know you Professor. I have faith in you."

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**Yay for a full chapter! Now I'm going to go watch CSI and become extremely paranoid about strange noises in my house. Much love, ipl**


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